Chapter 7

The same townhouse

Four thirty in the afternoon

How could she have let him kiss her?

The thought thundered in her brain, one great recrimination hammering again and again. She’d fended off many kisses, unwilling to give herself over to sensual passion. She should have pulled away. But she couldn’t, not when her entire body demanded it. My god, this was her husband, and he was rough and angry and so powerfully erotic she could do nothing but ride the storm of his mastery.

She should say no. She should. But the kiss was so hypnotic, so incredibly tempting she couldn’t find the strength within her to say no.

Say no?

She should scream no at the top of her very lungs but she feared that if she did scream the only word she would be able to scream would be a resounding yes!

Slowly, she opened her eyes and realized he was staring down at her. His gaze was half closed with desire. “I want you,” he whispered. “Without reservations. Once. Just once.”

And oh how she wanted him. Her husband. It was such a cruel twist of fate that the man she suddenly desired more than any other man she’d ever met before was the very man who she should hate above all others. He had abandoned her, after all. Yet, her body refused to hate him. She said nothing as she lifted her hand and traced the side of his face, wishing he wasn’t so handsome, wishing that he didn’t make her feel so utterly alive in his embrace.

He swept her up into his arms and carried her to the striped pink silk chaise and lowered her so that she sat facing him. Easing her down, he knelt directly before her on the soft rug. His fingers flicked at the hem of her skirt as he held her gaze, his eyes ablaze with dangerous passion.

“I have thought of nothing else since last night,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Nothing else but you.”

“I am not going to bed you and. . .” Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at him. His words were pure torture to her conflicted soul. It was imperative she remember it was her body he wanted and nothing else. And in fact, it was only his body she longed for. For she knew him not at all. “I do not believe such drivel, Your Grace.”

“Jack,” he said softly as if she hadn’t just made her position plain. “You must call me Jack. And it is not drivel. It’s the truth.”

Good God, his gaze was powerful, she wanted to tear her own away, but couldn’t. Not when his eyes seemed to speak more volumes about what he would do to her just awakened body than any words could ever do. In fact, his eyes seemed to have a direct connection to her soul and the wild heat spinning within her. “Truth though it may be, calling you by your given name seems. . . unwise.”

“But you must,” he tilted his head slightly, his dark hair brushing his forehead. “Because we are going to be intimate. Very, very intimate”

His hands traced over her slippers then he clasped her ankles, massaging his thumbs over her silk stockings. She gulped. “Are we?” she asked feeling most uncommonly stupefied.

In reply, he tugged her skirts up, sliding them over her knees, pressing them back to her hips, exposing her stockinged legs and her lace undergarments.

Shock and a most alarming anticipation held her frozen. She should move. She really should, and yet her damnable curiosity held her still. Yes. Curiosity should always be explored and she’d often wondered about the mating rituals of. . . She sucked in a shaking gasp as she realized that she was indeed going to see what he might do next. His eyes dropped from hers and wandered over her legs.

Instead of taking his leisure, he reached forward, took handfuls of her thin, lacy linen drawers and tore them apart. The sound of fabric ripping mixed with their rough breath. Cool air caressed her as her most secret place was bared to his eyes. “What are you doing?” she yelped, shocked.

This was a side of him, of any man, that she’d not seen. A wild demanding part. She’d expected him to touch her legs but not to storm her very gate. And she had absolutely no idea whether she should brain him or perhaps open her thighs a trifle wider.

“Taking what is mine,” he whispered simply, his voice the tone of hot whiskey and hunger.

She should have hated him for that, but it was not hate that made her ache. It was the painful realization that a secret, foolish part of her had wanted to be consumed by such a powerful man. . .a man who could match her for passion and fire and determination.

With focused intent, he studied her folds, then very carefully, he slid his forefinger over her opening, gathering its slick moisture before he circled it over a part of her anatomy to which she had only ever read about in the most obscure of medical texts.

Her hand flew to her mouth and she bit down on her knuckles to stop a cry of pleasure so intense it was nearly pain. Every inch of her skin tempted her to drop her head back and let him do as he wished to her, but there was something driving her now. Something more than just being the receiver of pleasure.

She wanted him to understand that she was in control of herself, that she couldn’t be controlled, not even by a master of sensuality like himself. He could not think her some silly twit to be done with as he pleased. Oh no. She was most definitely one who grasped life by the hands... Though at present what she contemplated grasping was something else entirely.

“And you, Your Grace?” she whispered as he circled his forefinger over her, teasing the little nub with deliciously wicked flicks. “Don’t you wish me to. . .” She leaned forward, her gaze locked with his and stroked her fingers over his smooth breeches, tracing the line of his hip then caressing his groin until her hand slid down and cupped the hard length straining against his clothing.

The heft of it was shocking in her grasp. She knew women took men’s shafts into their bodies, yet she still wondered at it. It seemed an impossible happening, given her own small entry and the girth of his member. But given how many men and women frolicked in the gardens of Venus, she had no doubts she would adjust.

If she wished it.

Which of course she did not.

No. She’d much rather dig about the sands of Egypt than. . . Cordelia sucked in a calming breath, determined not to lose control of herself or where she’d allow this to lead. Not when so much was at stake.

His eyes fluttered shut as she rubbed her fingers over the long hardened length. Still, even in his pleasure, he continued to stroke her, clearly savoring their mutual wish to drive the other wild with need.

Terrified by the heights he was pushing her to, she started to pull her hand away and stop this madness but as she did, the door swung open on its unfortunately well oiled and silent hinges.

It was so silent, she only caught the motion of the door opening from the corner of her eye and the sight sent her heart throttling against her throat in alarm.

With a yelp of consternation, Cordelia twisted away from Jack, her skirts wrapping about her legs. Simultaneously, Jack vaulted to his full height. In the fumble, the silky fabric of her skirts slipped her off the couch. To her dismay, she landed with a solid thump on the cream and rose Aubusson rug. . . At Jack’s feet.

Her knees poked up into the air and her palms slammed flat onto the floor, her mouth open in a silent o of shock.

“Sir Geoffry Bellamy and. . .” The old servant gaped, his silvery brows jutting up to his hairline. Apparently, even Smythe, butler extraordinaire, couldn’t overlook this particular faux pas.

Mortification rolled through Cordelia as Jack grabbed her forearms and yanked her to her feet. Her skirts tumbled about her ankles in an unorganized fashion and she had the decided impression that her virginal coif had gone morning after coital bliss.

Completely bumble brained, she knew she should probably be adjusting her frock back into place, but she was too lost in the damning realization that she’d been caught in deshabille with her husband by the solicitor protesting for her annulment.

Jack gave her hand a quick and surprisingly reassuring squeeze. “I do beg your pardon gentlemen, but the duchess was suffering a limb spasm and of course as her husband it was my duty to. . .ah. . .“

“Assist her?” Suggested Sir Bellamy. The older man’s cheeks bulged purplish pink over his starched white collar and his lips were twisted up like crushed rose petals in his shrewd assessment of the situation.

“Exactly,” Jack said smoothly. “So glad you understand, Sir Bellamy.”

The older man put a hand to his silver blue cravat and cleared his throat. “Yes, well, these things happen, Your Grace.”

Smythe continued to stand rather ineffectually in the doorway, preventing another person from entering.

Said person said brightly, “I say, might I come in? I am here after all in the position of physician. If the young woman needs assistance, certainly I could—”

“No,” Jack assured the hidden gentleman hastily.

Cordelia patted her hair, getting ahold of herself and her usual sense of authority. “Do join us Mr.?”

Smythe blinked furiously then stuttered, “S-sir. Michael Dillon, my lady.”

“Thank you, Smythe,” Cordelia soothed, amazed she was capable of sounding so normal given the outrageous circumstances.

The butler continued to stand there, his eyes flicking from the couch to herself then Jack, then back again as his mouth opened and closed.

One would have thought that under Kathryn’s employ he would have seen everything, but apparently, even Kate refrained from frolicking with the duke downstairs. “You may go now, Smythe,” she said kindly, hoping he would break out of his revery. “And allow Sir Dillon in.”

He gave a small nod, wavering. “Shall I bring tea?”

“I think the brandy will do,” Jack supplied dryly.

“It is a bit early,” began Sir Bellamy.

“Nonsense,” piped Sir Dillon as he inched his way around Smythe, his burgundy coat a decided contrast to the solicitor’s grey attire. In fact, Sir Dillon had the air of Falstaff about him, what with his full silver beard, plump belly, and jolly demeanor. “Brandy is just the thing for the nerves and to help Her Grace’s limbs relax. . . Given the examination we are to undertake, it is best she remain at ease.”

“Examination?” Jack whipped to Cordelia, concern paling his bold features. “What kind of examination?”

“Why to prove virginity, of course,” the doctor said merrily as he eyed the tray of brandy. “That is why I am here, am I not?”

“Virginity?” sputtered Jack. His face taking on a blank sort of look as one might have if whacked over the head with a cricket bat.

“Yes, as an added surety to your annulment?” put in Sir Bellamy carefully. His bushy grey brows drew together. “That is what you requested, Your Grace? Are we to understand that his lordship was not aware of this?”

What color was left drained from Jack’s face, replacing his concern, with a definite hint of gallows. “Would you care to explain, madam?” his tone deadly quiet. “I thought you were protesting for divorce. For the devil’s sake, how in the hell could you possibly ask for an annulment?”

Explain?

That would probably be the best thing, but how on earth did she even begin? She lifted her chin and eyed him determinedly. It would be all too easy to be cowed in this moment, but there was every chance he would be tremendously pleased that they were to be able to have an annulment. They would both be free a great deal faster without being dragged through the divorce courts and consequently the rags.

“You see, our marriage isn’t actually valid what with it being by proxy and. . . and, ” she said with a forced air of brightness, but as she tried to continue, the truth, something she usually allayed with no fuss, stuck in her throat. “I’ve never actually. . .” She frowned, wondering why this was so hard to say, given the things she’d just said to him and the fact she never shirked from what needed saying. “That is to say, I’ve never actually had—”

Kathryn stormed into the room, obviously having been standing just outside the door. No doubt accompanied by Smythe. She shook her blonde head and propped a fist on her hip. “For goodness sake dear girl, modesty gets you no where as I learned. Just say it. Say you’ve never been to bed with a man.”

Cordelia arched an irked brow at her friend but then said factually, “There. You have it. What Her Grace said.”

She forced a smile to her lips in the hopes that now the truth had been aired, the whole desperate situation would disappear. . . as would her reeling husband.

Jack’s adam’s apple bobbed as he too swallowed back his shock. “You. . . You are a—”

“Virgin,” she re-confirmed, wondering if he had been more shocked to learn she’d never made love to a man or that she was his wife. Perhaps it was the culmination of both that had seemed to steal his reason. Handsome though he was, he did appear a candidate for Bedlam what with his stunned look and opening and closing mouth.

He shook his head and in dramatic fashion staggered to the tray of liquor and poured himself out a glass then as if in second thought poured out a second glass and handed it to her. “Drink it. We both need it.” He lifted his own and tossed back the contents. “The rest of you can help yourselves,” he rasped as he poured himself seconds.

“Thank you, I will,” Sir Dillon enthused as he swaggered forward to the tray. The doctor was by the tray in a matter of seconds despite his bandy little legs. His cream colored vest pulled tight against the gold buttons which couldn’t quite restrain his jelly bowl of a middle. Still, despite the calamity, he appeared quite happy to pour out a glass with his pudgy fingers.

Cordelia shuddered as she realized that those sausage fingers were going to be probing at her nether regions and suddenly she found herself wishing that she did indeed need a divorce which would not necessitate her giving herself over to the merry little Father Christmas of a man.

“Shall we have another refreshment, Your Grace, or shall we adjourn upstairs?” inquired the jolly physician.

Cordelia eyed her cognac then lifted it to her lips drinking it down in one burning swallow. “Upstairs,” she coughed.

Anything to get her out of the difficult situation of answering her husband’s questions.

“Yes. Do get on with it,” urged Kate as she swayed forward and poured out a glass for herself and the solicitor. “We shall all be here. Awaiting the verdict.”

A grimace pulled at Cordelia’s lips. “Of course.”

And so she and Sir Dillon went up the stairs to ensure that she was indeed, as she claimed, untouched. . . or at least, intact.

* * *

“She’s a virgin,” Jack found himself saying to no one in particular.

“Indeed she is, Your Grace,” Kathryn said with an irritating note of enjoyment.

He locked his attention upon his friend’s wife. A woman he usually liked. At least when she wasn’t foisting cannon like information upon his person. “That is not possible. I have seen first hand that she is not some innocent young woman—”

“I’m sure you have,” she agreed readily her face alit with amusement. “But did you breach the gate? Can you be sure anyone has? Recall, I turned up on my husband’s doorstep determined to know affection and the world thought me to be an absolutely scandal when I’d never been more than a proper lady.”

He did recall. London had called Kathryn a whore and he and the Duke of Darkwell had known different. Indeed, he’d given his friend good game over his predicament with the young widow. Now, in a similar situation, he was not amused. Was it true? Had she truly kept herself untouched all these years? It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t. For god’s sake. He didn’t expect women to be nuns. And yet. . . It put a different light on her. If she was still untouched, there wasn’t a scheming streak in her body. He was the villain in all this. So it would seem.

He let out a groan. “Kathryn, you could have told me this the moment she arrived in London.”

She nodded. “Yes. I could.” She gave a wicked grin. “But isn’t this far more fun?”

He gave her a withering stare. He was going to have to have a word with Darkwell about his wife’s machinations. But for now, there was nothing to do but wait and find out the official verdict. For until he knew, there was nothing he could do. Hell, even once he knew, he wasn’t sure what he could do.

An annulment.

His grandmother would be overjoyed. Anything to keep them out of the papers. But what would grandmama do when she found out that his wife now in town was perhaps scandalous but also was virginal? It barely bore countenance.

Grandmama would know what to do. If anyone would, it was she. . . and yet. . . Perhaps this was one ducal matter he should take hold of himself. He loathed the idea of turning Cordelia over to the old gel who would no doubt make minced meat of her in moments. Grandmama had had enough of scandalous duchesses what with his mother’s goings on.

“Why did she say divorce?” he asked abruptly.

Kathryn met his gaze. “Because no one would have believed her protestations of innocence. Would you have?”

Jack swallowed his retort. The short of it was that he would not have. Not after her odd behavior and it did not bespeak his character that he had assumed the worst.

The wait was painful. He imagined the birth of a child was something similar except longer and of course with a more joyous result. His future was being decided upstairs at this very moment and it was with a decided sense of trepidation that he faced the footfalls coming back down the stairs.

Sir Dillon entered the room, his face kindly, a smile on his lips. “It is as the lady says. She is intact.”

Jack’s stomach twisted up and he didn’t know if he should crow for joy or rail at the unfairness of it all. He’d made his wife’s life hell. He’d neglected her, leaving her to her devices, and yet she had kept herself untouched so that she could come to London one day, at her own expense, and initiate an end to the marriage he had never bothered to start. “Thank you, Sir Dillon.”

Sir Bellamy shifted on the silk chair by the much depleted stock of brandy. He rose to his feet, tottered, then smoothed down his waistcoat. “I shall begin the annulment proceedings immediately.”

“Wait,” Jack bit out.

“My lord?”

“My grandmother, the dowager, must be consulted in this.” He hated that he even had to say it, but if grandmama was not involved, he would rain hell down upon them all. He knew her all too well to think she’d allow such an important matter to go unnoticed. When he’d assumed the dukedom, he made the decision to leave all important matters to his capable grandmother. His father had made it quite clear what a disaster it was that he’d inherited. And he was not about to run the dukedom into the ground as the old man had predicted. No, he’d given all control to his grandmother. At least, the old girl would ensure the title was unmarred until the next, appropriate heir could ascend.

Sir Bellamy hesitated. “I understand your situation, but you must see that I am your wife’s solicitor and though I have no wish to give offense to the dowager, she has a strong case and should be awarded her freedom with ease. You have been married for many years and have abandoned her and failed to consummate the marriage, my lord. In truth as Lady Cordelia said, the marriage was never valid to begin with as you were married by proxy as children.”

Well. There it was and from a disapproving old trout of a man. “Yes,” he agreed with no attempt to defend himself.

“So, you can hardly protest. You’ve shown no wish to make this a legitimate marriage.”

“No. I have not.” It was incredible how vacant he felt at this moment, as if this was all happening to someone else. “She would be far better off without me in any case.”

“And you will be free to pursue a duchess of your own choosing.”

Jack nodded. How did he explain he would never choose a wife, that he would never have children, and that he would always do the worst. It was in his nature, his father had assured him so, time and time again.

So, why should now be any different?

Still, in all technicality, she belonged to him, didn’t she? What he was thinking was completely perverse, but it was who he was. If she wanted her freedom, if giving it to her was the right thing to do. . . Shouldn’t he do the opposite? His father had fated him for a man who always took the wrong path. Jack hesitated, marveling at the thoughts careening through his head. He glanced up at the ceiling contemplating the woman above. The woman who had nearly burned him to a cinder with her kiss. Could he let her go? Did he have to?

A slow smile quirked his lips. Why on earth should he start walking the path of righteousness now? Oh no, he would walk his path. The wrong path. The path that seduced wives. And it was time to seduce his own.

* * *

“He’s gone.”

Cordelia curled up on the barely warm sheets of her mammoth bed and pulled the covers tightly under her chin. How she wished she could go back to a time when she’d been very little and she’d slept in a rickety cot in a tent, her father puttering away at his discoveries, cataloguing away while her mother had sang to herself as she finished sketches of the sites they’d been excavating. A time when things had been simple and all seemed as if everything would always be safe and well.

But simplicity had ceased to be a part of her life when her mother and father had begun to bicker. And then the bickering had escalated to vicious words followed by long stretches of silence.

With every subsequent year, her life had traveled farther and farther from that assurance children feel when protected and unconditionally loved.

She sniffed at her own silliness. She didn’t need unconditional love. She simply needed a good dig site, the men to work it, and her trusty tool kit to brush away the last bits of sand that hid the treasures of the past. Those treasures were reliable. They had been there for several millennia after all. They would never betray her.

“Cordelia?” Kathryn urged.

Cordelia blew out a sigh and rolled over, her chemise twisting about her thighs under the crisp sheets. “Of course, he is gone.”

Kate’s skirts rustled as she made her way to the bed then lowered herself onto the edge. She sat in silence for a while then finally asked, “I know we have become acquaintances through letters, but I believe we have become close. I hope you feel you can confide in me if you are dismayed by the day’s events. Are you as well as you seem? Once I would have been reticent but now, if I were in your situation, I would be tearing my hair out.”

Cordelia nodded, not quite trusting her voice. It was so kind of her friend to offer such comfort, but how could she tell Kathryn that she was not at all well, that she felt sick to her very soul with the way the day had turned, the way all her plans had disintegrated. Where was the proud, audacious woman who planned to dismiss her husband the way one might do to an ineffectual dig foreman?

That woman had been swept up in the Duke of Hunt’s renowned ability to bring any woman to sensual life, and here her traitorous little heart was beating faster for him. It was a foolish thing and she would ensure it ended here and now.

“This is what you wanted?” Kathryn asked carefully. “The annulment? If so, Sir Bellamy says he shall begin proceedings on the morrow.”

This was exactly what she’d wanted and she shouldn’t be surprised at how swiftly Jack had bolted from the house, but there had been the smallest hope within her that he’d genuinely wanted her, wanted her so badly that perhaps he would stay and discuss this as if she were more than a toy for his personal amusement. But he’d done what he’d done the whole of their marriage. He’d stayed away.

“Yes. Of course it is.” She swallowed a strange knot in her throat. “I shall be most pleased if it can be expedited immediately.”

Kathryn nodded. “I believe Sir Bellamy has every intention of drawing up the papers post haste.”

In a short time she would be free. Free from the man who had thrown her perfectly ordered world into an unacceptable riot of emotion. Yes. That’s what it was. Unacceptable. And the sooner she was rid of him the better.

In one violent motion, she threw the covers back. “What parties have we been invited to this evening?”

Kathryn’s blond brows drew together. “Pardon?”

Cordelia swung her legs over the side of the bed, dangling them. “I need amusement.”

“But surely—”

“No.” Cordelia wiped a hand over her tired face then pushed herself up. As she crossed to the bell pull to summon a maid for washing, she said over her shoulder, “I cannot stay here and wallow in my own self-pity.”

Kathryn laughed. “Whatever you wish, my dear. And I’m glad to hear it.”

Whatever she wished. If only it were so simple.